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Sweet disturbance

Like the buzzing of a bee, Just next to my ear, Like an old ceiling fan, Right above my head, Like a lover-boy speaking in a cell phone, Just next to my seat, Like a loud horn in a bus, Right in the front row, Like a talkative friend, Just next to you in at the cinema, Like a loud mouthed boss, Right before you a pain everywhere, Like the ring tone of a cell phone, Just when you break your head with a code, Like the hush of a cloud, Right when you admire the moon’s its beauty, Like the tone of a little love fight, Just when he is late for dinner, My love for you, Is it an in-healable wound? No I call it a sweet disturbance, A never-ending pleasurable PAIN…
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Mother

As Mala rode her bike early in the morning towards her office, zip went a bike crossing her like a torrent. She wished she could tell the boy to control his speed for his own safety. There was a quick flashback running in her mind and she heard a screeching sound near the crossroad, her heart beat faster she knew something was wrong. The young biker was on the road with his head bleeding badly, and an SUV speeding fast. Morning sweepers, stood around to see the boy bleed. The loud sound of the ambulance nor the thought that she was getting late to work didn’t deter her from helping the boy reach the hospital and wait until his relatives and friends reached. He was saved, but Mala cried. She wished her son Abijith could have been saved if not for people to just gather around and watch him die, while he bled on the road that fatal day.
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The unheard tears

Born as male, yet living as female, A curse to the gender, Heavily loaded with make-up and lipstick, Adorned with dazzling attire, When we walk on roads, The wave of crowd move away, Like the red sea parting for the Israelites, They call us THE THIRD GENDER. God’s creation, no sin of ours, Epics talk loud of us, Loyal followers of Lord Rama, Legend behind winning the Kurukshetra, Trustworthy servants of the Chinese emperors, Alexander the great’s best desire, Blessed we are on festival days, Yet deprived of all human rights. For hunger, we remain platters to men’s pleasure, Begging by force is not uncustomary, For none are even trusted as servants, Thrown away not even equal to dust, Tattered by the inhuman attitude, Not even the least respect given to us, None to understand, We crumble down in humiliation. Unfortunate of us, If it be God, an embodiment of man and women, Human race kneel down to pray for health, But for us the treatment is less, Begging or selling ourselves for food, N...
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